Congratulations!!
Congratulations, Rae! I know you don't did the pups so much anymore, but here's a little moment that's been cooked up for the occasion - I hope it brightens an already fabulous day, for you! <3!
Love Like the Blind
For Rae!
There are moments, thinks Sirius, where you can focus on one thing, utterly alone. This, he knows, is where happiness is, pure and white and so deadly clear that the world has to slink away into the cracks of your head, stealing thought, breathing, the simple machinations of left-right-left-right, this is a tree, a rock, the sky, a bird, a sunny afternoon in a London park.
He knows of one when he was small. Beach, he knows, the sand and sky like brazed caramel, deep sugary orange, simmering in August at the sunset. They were in Kent, by the sea, he can piece it together now, when he has clues like his bare, chubby wrists, the sand on the soles of his feet, the red crabs they had for dinner, lingering on his tongue when his Father picked him up. Into his arms, there. And. Here, Father had said, voice like a coalscuttle, eyes too dark to see, here, Sirius. Shall we walk, you and I?. And Sirius could have squirmed, or cried, or fought, but instead he shattered, quietly; was in love.
So, he thinks, feeling the sift of Remus's hair under his fingers, the London sun on his face like the smell of a lemon rind, the easy crook of Remus's legs, the way Remus smiles against his belly when he breathes. There is grass under him, cool; his shirt is rucked up, and when Remus turns his head into the sun, his hair skims Sirius's skin, cheek to Sirius's belly, making him, oh. Oh, sleepy eyes and lazy smile, skinny arms and knobby scarred knees, white skin, sugarbrown hair, oh -- quiver, shatter, in the sun.
Love Like the Blind
For Rae!
There are moments, thinks Sirius, where you can focus on one thing, utterly alone. This, he knows, is where happiness is, pure and white and so deadly clear that the world has to slink away into the cracks of your head, stealing thought, breathing, the simple machinations of left-right-left-right, this is a tree, a rock, the sky, a bird, a sunny afternoon in a London park.
He knows of one when he was small. Beach, he knows, the sand and sky like brazed caramel, deep sugary orange, simmering in August at the sunset. They were in Kent, by the sea, he can piece it together now, when he has clues like his bare, chubby wrists, the sand on the soles of his feet, the red crabs they had for dinner, lingering on his tongue when his Father picked him up. Into his arms, there. And. Here, Father had said, voice like a coalscuttle, eyes too dark to see, here, Sirius. Shall we walk, you and I?. And Sirius could have squirmed, or cried, or fought, but instead he shattered, quietly; was in love.
So, he thinks, feeling the sift of Remus's hair under his fingers, the London sun on his face like the smell of a lemon rind, the easy crook of Remus's legs, the way Remus smiles against his belly when he breathes. There is grass under him, cool; his shirt is rucked up, and when Remus turns his head into the sun, his hair skims Sirius's skin, cheek to Sirius's belly, making him, oh. Oh, sleepy eyes and lazy smile, skinny arms and knobby scarred knees, white skin, sugarbrown hair, oh -- quiver, shatter, in the sun.